Louisa Rawlings (30 page)

Topaze hurried down the long
galerie
. She heard a clock chime in the distance. She’d have to hurry before supper. What an idiot she’d been. Tomorrow would mark a month since she’d left Madame Le Sage’s house. Lucien might wish to signal her at once. And she’d never taken the time to search for the hidden passageway! What if he should want to meet her there?

Reaching the end of the
galerie
, she peered into the paneled library. It was empty. She’d been in here once or twice, but for some reason she’d tried to avoid this room. It made her uneasy. She always felt as though she were being watched when she was in this room.

She took a few moments to wander about. Lucien had said it was a favorite room of Véronique’s. She should be more familiar with it than she was. The walls were paneled in dark woods, richly carved and gilded. Two walls were lined with bookcases; the third had a long bench and two tall windows; the fourth was the fireplace wall. She smiled to herself. The clock was still there, on the mantel. The little shepherd girl was still missing her hand.

Dieu!
She couldn’t be distracted by memories! There were more important things to do. She frowned, trying to remember. The bookcase opposite the windows, Lucien had said. That’s where the secret door was. And to release it…the paneled strip to one side of the books. Damnation! There were
two
paneled strips, one on each side. She tried to picture Lucien’s map of the room; she was sure that he had indicated which side. She racked her brain but couldn’t remember.
Oh, well
, she thought.
I’ll try them both.
The fourth cockleshell. That much she remembered. From the top? No. The bottom. She found it. Tried to turn it. Nothing happened.
It must be the panel on the other side
, she thought. She shivered. What was it the old wives said? Someone was walking on her grave? Everything about this room made her uneasy.
Ninny!
she thought.
No one’s been spying on you!
She heard a noise from the
galerie
. She almost felt reprieved.
I’ll search for the passage another time
, she thought,
it’s too dark now.
She hurried from the room.

She dreamed that night of Lucien, and awoke with tears on her cheeks. Her heart was aching with longing. And grief for his sorrows. As soon as she could, she went for a walk, turning in the direction of the mill when she was out of sight of the château.

A fluttering bit of white caught her eye long before she’d reached the crest of the hill. She nearly wept for joy. A signal from Lucien! She ran to the mill. The handkerchief was impaled on the lowest arm of the mill, fastened to the heavy old beam just at eye level. She pulled it off, then ducked inside the building. It was ancient and dusty, with field mice scampering among rotting grain sacks. She stretched her arm above the door, searching with eager fingers. Sure enough, there was a note. And Lucien had even thought to leave a small crayon for her reply. She pulled down the paper and unfolded it with shaking fingers.

It said,
Can you meet me in the grotto at three this afternoon? Wednesday. Come by way of the garden. Hubert will be working in his library. I shall wait for you until four.

She scribbled a one-word reply,
Yes.
Oh, yes, my love
, she thought, replacing the note and handkerchief above the door and returning to Grismoulins. She thought she’d die until the afternoon came, staring at the clock on her wall until the characters were engraved in her brain. She was out of the door by a quarter to three.

Léonard stopped her as she passed the old tower. He smiled. “G-g-good afternoon, Véronique.”

He was really getting quite brave! She returned his smile. “Léonard.” There was an awkward silence. He seemed to be waiting for something. An invitation to join her on her walk? Ave Maria, not this afternoon! He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. As she continued to smile in silence, his face fell. He turned away, shoulders sagging. “Léonard,” she said gently, “shall we build cardhouses tonight after supper?”

He grinned, nodded, did a joyous somersault on the lawn, and raced to the château.

On the chance that he might still follow her, she took a circuitous route to the grotto. She passed a large lake edged with tall trees, and crossed a wide meadow. She came to the pond, ducked under the greening willows, and reached the small grotto: a little artificial cave with plaster stalactites hanging from the ceiling. It was cool and dim. She shivered, blinked her eyes in the sudden darkness.

A strong hand clasped her arm, pulled her close to a hard body. And then she was drowning in Lucien’s kiss, with his mouth demanding her surrender. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. Nothing else mattered. Only the thrill of his nearness, the joy of his kiss. Her head was spinning.

Too soon he broke her embrace, laughed, stood back from her. “Well, Véronique, let’s take a look at you.” His blue eyes (so well-remembered, so beloved) scanned her with care. “You’re well dressed. They must be pleased to see their Véronique.” He frowned. “I’m not sure I like your hair, though.”

“You don’t?” She touched her short curls self-consciously.

He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Well, perhaps I do. When you entangle yourself with me in bed, your hair won’t tickle my nose so much.”

She giggled. “By Saint Damian, what makes you think I’ll allow you into my bed? I have two handsome suitors now.”

He rubbed the scar on his cheek. She was surprised to notice that his deep tan, that had begun to fade at Madame Le Sage’s, was now as richly bronze as it had been when first they met. He smiled. “New clothes. A new coiffure. And two suitors. By Lucifer, you
have
been busy, I see.”

“And I’m the darling of the Chalotais family.” She tossed her head. “And what have
you
been doing all this month?”

He smiled. She’d forgotten how cold, how chilling his smile could be. “Why,” he said, “I’ve been right here at Grismoulins.”

Chapter Seventeen

She stared at him. “What do you mean, you’ve been here?”

“I arrived two days after you did.”

“What? Where have you been staying?”

“A number of places. I came as far as Parthenay by coach. It’s a large town. Easy enough to lose myself there. I hired a farmer with a wagon to bring me here at night. He thinks I’m an astronomer who’s studying the moon and stars of the region.” He laughed sardonically. “I convinced him that the daylight makes me uneasy. Once a week—at night, of course—he brings me food supplies. There’s an old woodcutter’s hut, deep in the woods. I’d had it in mind from the beginning. I remembered it was in ruins, but I hoped it was still usable.”

“And you’re staying there?”

“Not always. It’s not the most comfortable inn. But I discovered that the old tower has now become a storeroom for unused furniture.” He grinned. “I’ve found myself a cozy bed.”

“The tower? Have you been in the secret passageway?”

“Of course. It was the first place I went to. I’ve explored it all. Lord, I’ve even been in the library.”

“Ave Maria, but that’s so dangerous! And how do you find your way around in the dark?”

He eyed her with curiosity. “Haven’t
you
been in the tunnel yet?”

“No, I was afraid they were still watching my movements. And I haven’t had time to search for the door in the library.”

“I’ve had nothing but time. I’ve amused myself by spying on the detestable Chalotais. And sunning myself.”

“Sunning yourself? Have you become as vain as that?”

“No. I did it in the event that…well, no matter.”

“In the event that
what
?”

He shook off her question with an impatient toss of his head. “Enough. Tell me all that’s happened here.”

“Well, at first Hubert was suspicious. What an unkind man he is.”

“I never liked him much.”

“Poucette seems to think he’s become worse, since he’s the master of Grismoulins. At any rate, after a while he seemed to accept me as Véronique. He’s not very kind about it. But then he’s not very kind about
anything
. And that little trollop of his…”

“Yes. Pachot told me about her. But of course I wanted you to be as surprised as Véronique would have been.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “You might have told me. I could have feigned surprise. I suppose you knew that Nanine was blind, then. In spite of your talk of her being difficult to dupe.”

“No, I didn’t. Blind, you say? A pity. She was always well-meaning. What about that solicitor? Pachot mentioned something of him.”

She snorted. “Bonnefous. Though he smiles at me when the others are around, he’s made it clear he thinks I’m an impostor. He’s already sent to Guadeloupe to find out about
you
. He’s sworn to unmask me.”

“Are you worried?”

“No. Not really. All the others, including the servants, are delighted to have their Véronique back again.” She laughed. “To the extent that they’ve begun to make excuses for my occasional…” She held up an admonishing finger. “I said
occasional
lapses. Once someone mentioned Grand-tante Agathe, and I said she was on Hubert’s side of the family.”

“No. Adelaïde’s,” he interrupted, frowning.

“So they corrected me. But when I seemed concerned at forgetting, they couldn’t reassure me enough. I wasn’t to worry, it was a natural mistake. Fleur even suggested I take a tonic, so I wouldn’t be so upset!”

He laughed at that. “And I’m sure you played it to a turn, my clever little ragamuffin.”

“Oh! Ragamuffin? How can you say that? Look!” She pirouetted before him. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful gown? And you should have seen me the night of the ball!”

“I did. I caught a glimpse of you from the library door. When you were dancing in the
galerie
.”

“Well? Didn’t you think I looked like a true aristocrat?”

“Lord. Save your pretensions for the ones who are more easily gulled. That was a lavish party, from what I saw of the preparations. It must have cost Hubert a fortune. Well, it’s his to spend, I suppose. What does Père François think of you? Have you managed to convince
him
?”

“Almost at once. They tried to trick me with a sham priest, but I saw through it. And you were wrong about the Reverend Father. He was scarcely suspicious even from the first. And then when I told the story of Véronique weeping over Grandmère Chalotais’s grave, the poor Father was a hooked fish. The harmless old fraud.”

“Harmless?” Lucien sneered. “
Harmless?
”

The look on his face brought back Adelaïde’s woeful story. “Oh, Lucien,” she whispered, “I know it all. Why did you never tell me?”

His expression was bland. “Tell you what? That God works in mysterious ways? That Père François, that
harmless
old man, was a vicious dog who yapped at my father’s heels, and abetted his cruelty? Taught him to be unforgiving?”

“Then the dog has lost his teeth. He’s not at all what you said.”

“He
has
changed, then. Soft living has made him soft.” He kicked angrily at a pebble on the floor of the grotto.

She touched his arm. “Lucien…”

He smiled, baring his teeth. “So now you’re Véronique. Beloved of the family.”

She sighed. There was no reaching him. “Yes. Véronique.” She shook her head. “By all the Saints, what a little wanton she was.”

“Don’t be absurd. She was barely fourteen. A flirt, certainly. But scarcely a wanton!”

“No. More than a flirt, I think. I’m almost certain she granted the last favors…”

His mouth twitched in a cynical smile. “Well, don’t look at
me
. I didn’t deflower my young cousin. Are you sure?”

“Yes. Well, almost. From the way one of the neighbors talked. It was very difficult. He seemed to expect a renewal of…”

His eyes raked her body. “And did Véronique oblige?”

“Are you jealous?”

He laughed. “Merely curious. And so they’ve accepted you.”

“More than that. Welcomed me warmly. Aren’t you proud of me?”

“By Lucifer, yes. How I wish Martin were here to see the success of our scheme. I
knew
it would work. I knew I could remember enough, teach you enough, to dupe those rascals, every beggarly one of them.” His eyes glittered with malice. “By Satan’s horn, isn’t it a fitting revenge?”

She shuddered at the venom in his eyes. She was nothing to him. Revenge was what mattered. “And you hate them all.”

“Why not?”

“Curse you, Lucien, are you so blind?”

“And do
you
still see good in all of mankind?”

She felt her anger getting the better of her. “Shall I tell you something? You didn’t need your complicated scheme, with your bankers and your piddling birthday inheritance, and your petty vengeance. You should have trusted the goodness of people a bit more. Your Aunt Adelaïde grieves for you.”

“Bah! Worthless sentiment.”

“Had you trusted that ‘worthless sentiment’,”she snapped, “you could look forward to half a million livres someday!”

“What?”

“Fleur has a trust. She willed it to
you
. But, of course, now you’ll lose it. When her solicitor comes to visit in the middle of June, she’s changing her will again. And naming her returned daughter as heir to her fortune.”